


ghost stories

by babybel



Series: tumblr prompts [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, i just think season 4 era had a lot of potential character-wise so yea.....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybel/pseuds/babybel
Summary: Jamie stared at the wood of the door, and, putting it together for the first time as he said it, asked slowly, “Why do I think we’re on Culloden?”After a moment’s silence, the Doctor said, “Oh.”
Relationships: Second Doctor/Jamie McCrimmon
Series: tumblr prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084868
Comments: 11
Kudos: 27





	ghost stories

**Author's Note:**

> for @sircarolyn on tumblr

It was a combination of rain and wind that drove them indoors, not out of fear for getting rained on, but because said rain was coming down in sheets, and visibility was just too poor to get much of anything done. Anyway, the little they might get done would be drenched and miserable such as it was, so into the little cabin they’d gone. 

It was small and old and smelled of dust; it felt a bit comforting. A very small bit, though, for nearly the moment he stepped over the threshold and shook the rain from his hair, Jamie could tell that something was wrong. 

He considered himself good at picking up on things like that, and he tried to tune into it and source it out while the Doctor went back and forth behind him, getting a fire going in the hearth, pulling the drapes closed over the window, muttering about a draft. 

“Put that out,” he hissed suddenly, not sure the why of it, just sure they couldn’t have smoke coming up and letting people know where they were. Panic clawed into his chest, and he turned to face the Doctor. “Did you not hear me?”

“Oh, I heard you fine,” the Doctor said calmly. “Only it’s ever so cold, and I’d much rather have it, if you don’t mind.” Then a slight frown touched his face. “Jamie-”

Jamie pushed past him gently, and methodically pulled each log - not-yet caught or just-barely caught - out of the fireplace and onto the cold stone floor, where he watched them sputter out. He held his hand to his chest for a moment, getting over the hint of a burn he’d suffered during the process of it. But that was nothing. He’d take a good many burns over being found. And it hit him how utterly irrational he was being. 

It was a struggle to hear what the Doctor was saying. Usually, he was good with sound, and good with listening, but presumably the Doctor’d been talking the whole time he was putting out the fire and he’d not heard a word of it. That panic in his chest grew; he was sick, he must be. “What?” he mumbled, and it was less asking the Doctor to repeat what he’d been saying and more a plea for help.

“I’ve got to build the whole fire over again,” the Doctor said, quietly, as if that was not what he was thinking at all. “Thank you very much, Jamie.” That last bit was added with a weak edge of sarcasm that even more so said his thoughts were elsewhere.

“Don’t,” Jamie said, on impulse. “Christ, the door.” He held a hand to his head for a moment, trying to search out what was happening, what was putting these thoughts into him, but that fear won out, and he ran to the door and searched it up and down for a lock. “There’s no- Doctor, they’ll be able to get in-”

He felt a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, and he froze. He realized he was near out of breath, and he could hear his heartbeat, pounding in his ears. 

“Jamie, no one is going anywhere in that rain, let alone coming in here.” The Doctor’s voice was low and measured and so, so reassuring. 

Jamie stared at the wood of the door, and, putting it together for the first time as he said it, asked slowly, “Why do I think we’re on Culloden?”

After a moment’s silence, the Doctor said, “Oh.” 

“What’s that mean?” Jamie spat. “Am I sick? What’s wrong with me? Am I dying?” He shook the Doctor’s hand off him, ignoring the Doctor’s protests and cut-off tries at answers, and scanned the room until he found a heavy wooden chair to barricade the door with. Setting it solid and secure against the door brought a little respite from the terror he was suffering, even though it didn’t make sense, none of it made sense. 

After waiting a moment, as if making sure Jamie was listening, the Doctor carefully told him, “You’re not sick, and you’re definitely not dying.”

“Then what’s-”

“I’d guess it’s this place,” the Doctor said, talking over him. He glanced around the cabin, taking it in as if for the first time. “It looks an awful lot like the one you were hiding in with the MacLarens, you know.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Jamie demanded. “And you keep your voice down, you hear me?”

“If that helps, then certainly.” After what seemed like a slight bit of hesitation, the Doctor reached out and touched a hand to Jamie’s shoulder. “Jamie- when you go through something like war, it changes your brain.” 

Jamie knew that. Of course he knew that, everyone did. But he couldn’t look at the Doctor and hear it. He turned his eyes down, staring at the slate floor beneath his feet. It was so shameful, and he didn’t know why. Or- he did know. It was him, it was that he should’ve been able to weather it and make it through fine. He hadn’t died. He’d barely even gotten hurt. By all means he should be fine, but he hadn’t been strong enough, and it had changed his brain. 

“It can be things you see, or feelings, or nothing at all,” the Doctor was saying. 

Jamie realized he’d tuned out again. 

“Those stimuli can bring the mindset you were in then back out, and confuse you. It’s a perfectly normal response.” 

“Oh,” Jamie said weakly, just to show the Doctor that he’d been trying to listen. He felt sick. “That.” 

“I’m sorry I’m not being more help,” said the Doctor. “I don’t know enough to- to do anything, or-” He broke off, and after a second, he pulled Jamie into a hug. 

Jamie forced himself to relax in increments, and then it happened all at once, relief bleeding through him. He held onto the Doctor as tightly as he could, and let it ground him; he pressed his mouth to the Doctor’s shoulder and screwed his eyes shut and slowly, the panic that’d saturated him ebbed away. He wondered, vaguely, if the thoughts had just run their course and were done, or if he’d needed the blunt comfort of holding the Doctor to chase them off. 

After a good few minutes, he let go. He felt shaky, head to toe, and too tense, but at least he wasn’t listening for imaginary English soldiers anymore. He looked at the Doctor and the Doctor looked at him, and he wanted to apologize, but he knew it would make the Doctor go all sad if he did. 

“You can count down your senses,” the Doctor said, after a moment’s silence. “Five things you can see, four things you can feel, so on.” 

And it was foolish, but the thought of that seemed like too much work. Jamie’d come over exhausted. “I don’t think I need that just now,” he said, and it was true. “I’m feeling all right. Thank you.” 

Of course, a thank you didn’t even begin to cover it, but it was the only thing he could come up with and say that wouldn’t make his face go red, and it was surely all the Doctor would accept, too. Everything else in his head was too grateful and too honest to say without overstepping and giving himself away. 

“Are you sure you’re fine?” The Doctor held out a hand and stopped before he touched Jamie. It hung there in the space between them, and he sounded hurt himself, like it was him who was messed up over the cabin and not Jamie. 

Jamie stomped down the urge to take the Doctor’s hand and hold it. “Aye, I’m fine. That- thing that happened, that’s done for the most part, I think. I can feel it.” 

After another moment in which he very intently watched Jamie, the Doctor caught that outstretched hand with his other one, and swung them both up to his chest, which devolved into his usual kinetic fidgeting. “How does a cup of tea sound?” he asked, after another moment. “If I can start the fire again, that is.” 

“Sounds fine,” Jamie told him, and carefully made his way over to the wall opposite the door. He eased his way down until he was sitting with his back pressed to the wood, and that was better. He focused on the Doctor and just the Doctor, worried that if he paid too much mind to the rest of the cabin he’d start thinking it was Culloden again. So long as he just kept looking at the Doctor, he’d be fine. 

And he did. He watched the Doctor painstakingly collect each log from the ground and set them back up in the fireplace before lighting them again. He watched the Doctor take the old kettle hanging from the mantle and cross to the window, pulling the drapes aside to open it and fill the kettle with rainwater. He watched the Doctor set it over the fire and rummage about in his pockets for a few dented metal camping mugs, and a few bags of tea. 

By that time, Jamie was pretty sure that if he held a hand up to his eyes, it would stay steady enough that he wouldn’t see any sort of tremor. He still didn’t feel completely back to normal, but he’d take what he could get. “Hey,” he said, “what’s that powder stuff you’re putting into it?”

The Doctor looked up. “This?” He held out the packet he’d been shaking over the tea mugs. “It’s milk. Take a look, if you’d like.” 

Jamie took it. “It’s not milk,” he muttered, peering into the little thing. Inside, what looked like very white flour lay. 

“Oh, I assure you, it is.” The Doctor handed him a mug of tea. “See for yourself.”

Jamie did. It certainly looked like tea with milk in it. He knew the Doctor was still watching him more closely than usual, he could feel it, and the need to apologize won out over any qualms he’d had about it. “I didn’t mean,” he tried, slowly, “for that to- I mean- for you to have to-” He blew out a breath, frustrated with himself, and put his mug of tea down next to him. 

“You know it’s all right, don’t you?” 

Jamie looked up at him. He didn’t know how to put into words that people shouldn’t have to care for him, it should be the other way round. He hated it. 

“That sort of thing happens to the very best and very strongest of people, which I know because it happened to you.” The Doctor sat down next to him. He picked up the tea Jamie’d set aside and held it out until Jamie took it again. 

“I’m still sorry.” Jamie said it flatly, staring down into his tea. 

“You don’t need to be,” replied the Doctor, gently. 

He had a way of saying things that made Jamie want to believe him more than anything. Maybe he’d let it go, just this once, he thought. Maybe he could try to accept that he’d needed help. He had to start thinking about something else, so he said, “I hope Ben and Polly are out of the rain, wherever they are.” 

“Oh, they should be,” the Doctor said, voice still too soft. “Down in the city I’m sure it’s easy to find a bit of shelter.”

“Good.” Jamie tried his tea. Oddly enough, that powder stuff in it did taste like milk. 

After a few minutes of silence, the Doctor said, “Here, I think I’ve got-” and began going through his pockets with the hand that wasn’t holding his tea. He pulled out a worn little book. “I’ll read you a story. To pass the time.” 

Jamie squinted at the writing on the cover, and couldn’t make head nor tail of it. “What is it?”

“Uhm- it’s a ghost story, Jamie,” the Doctor answered abstractedly, focused on thumbing through the pages. 

“You and your ghost stories,” Jamie muttered, but his chest felt warm. People seldom went out of their ways for him, but that was exactly what the Doctor was doing now, to take his mind off things. Struck by something, he got up, stepped around the Doctor, and settled back down. The last bit of worry went out of him; he was now solidly between where the Doctor sat and the door, just in case. 

The Doctor looked up, drawn out of his messing with the book by the movement. He took in what Jamie’d done, sighed a tiny sigh, and leaned over to press a quick kiss to Jamie’s forehead. 

Jamie felt his face flush, and he looked down and made to grumble something to shield himself but the Doctor was already clearing his throat to read. 

“This story’s from Alaska,” the Doctor prefaced, “and was recorded in 1910.”

Jamie refrained from asking what Alaska was and held his mug of tea against his chest, letting it bleed heat into him. He could hear the rain still crashing down outside, could feel the air in the cabin slowly losing its chill as the fire went to work. He wasn’t so much paying attention to the story but to the Doctor’s voice, which was one he could surely listen to forever without complaint, taking in and processing the Doctor’s cadence rather than his actual words.

At one point he moved, shifting a little closer so his knee pressed against the Doctor’s. There was no reason for it, not in particular. Just that it settled something in him, let him breathe a little easier.

The Doctor looked up for just a moment, and there was such a softness in his eyes, to an almost unwarranted degree. Then he looked back down and kept on reading his ghost story.

And, letting the Doctor’s words fade into the gentle music of speech, Jamie kept on listening. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr [@lesbiandonnanoble](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/lesbiandonnanoble)


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